Ravens
by Tsubodei
Summary: Athos, Porthos and Aramis weren't always the Inseparables. Treville brought them closer, but Savoy brought them together.
1. Chapter 1

**Hope you enjoy, just my take on Savoy story.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing below :)**

Something was wrong, Treville could feel it in the air and he knew he would not be getting any sleep tonight. Sighing, he sat up and grabbed his boots before pulling his leathers and cloak on. Dressed, the Captain of the Musketeers walked out onto the balcony to find something to do with his night; the armoury could always be rechecked.

When he looked down at the moonlit yard he expected to see it deserted, but instead he spotted Porthos, one of his new recruits. The big man had an exceptional gift at brawling, but he had never owned a sword before; too poor to afford one. No doubt he felt he needed more practice, which is why Treville found him wielding the weapon at such a late hour.

The Captain did not approve of his men going without sleep but at least this would give him something to do tonight. Treville quickly grabbed his sword-belt from his room and then returned to the balcony before walking down the stairs. Porthos noticed his leader just as he reached the bottom, immediately embarrassed to have been caught red handed by the man he so admired.

"Cap'n…I was just…"

"You're gripping your sword wrong," Treville cut-off, drawing his own blade. "Hold it like this," he continued, showing Porthos his hand. The new recruit just stared at him for a moment, confused as to why the man would be helping him at such a late hour. When Treville didn't move on Porthos quickly copied his grip, finding he now had much more control over the blade. "Good," Treville said, placing a hand on Porthos' shoulder before walking past him.

"Thank-you Cap'n, good night," Porthos replied, turning to see where Treville was going. The Captain, however, was facing Porthos having only walked a few steps and then turned; sword arm raised.

"I hope after all these years of experience I have a few more lessons to teach you," Treville stated, flicking his sword up and then down; signalling the start of a dual.

"Cap'n you don't have to…"

"Porthos. I will be getting no sleep tonight; at least let me help you for a while. Besides, I need the exercise," Treville said, rolling his shoulder.

"Yes Sir," Porthos replied, touched that the Captain would spare his time. Treville was thankful that the man didn't question his lack of ability to sleep; every single Musketeer had some demons. The men's true strength came from overcoming them.

* * *

Treville and Porthos duelled for about a half hour, occasionally stopping so that the Captain could offer advice. It was during one of these pauses when they noticed a figure walking through the garrison archway.

"That'll be Athos Cap'n," Porthos stated, instantly recognising the man; they often met at this hour when Athos returned from a tavern and Porthos was still practising. Treville sighed as he watched the man stumble through the walkway, stepping out into the moonlit yard. He sheathed his sword and walked over to Athos as he attempted to reach the table.

Treville grabbed him by the shoulder's as he nearly tripped, startling the man out of his thoughts.

"Captain?" Athos asked, confused. Treville had to clench his jaw for a moment to overcome the smell of alcohol on the younger man's breath. "I had not thought to see you out at this hour," Athos stated in his usual respectful tone. Treville was about to reply when Athos suddenly turned green and the Captain had to quickly move aside and hold him upright as Athos retched; vomiting up the wine on the yard. When he was done Treville was able to sit him down at the table, about to fetch some water when Porthos beat him to it; already handing Athos a full flask. Treville nodded his head in thanks at the man; clearly Porthos was accustomed to Athos' behaviour.

"This happens often?" Treville asked Porthos, already knowing the answer, as Athos groaned and drank the liquid.

"Every night Sir. Don't think he remembers come morning…least he don't ever mention it." "You train every night?" Treville replied, catching Porthos off guard.

"Well I…," Porthos stumbled, but Treville gave him a stern 'don't lie to me' glare. "Yes Cap'n."

"You won't improve much without a tutor Porthos. No matter how many hours you put in," the Captain stated. "I'm afraid I rarely have the time."

"Cap'n. You've done so much already." Treville smiled sadly at the man. How did he deserve such loyalty from one he had done so much wrong? Porthos, the lost child that had somehow found his way back to him. If he could, Treville would give him everything to repay what he had done, but the Captain had many men to look after; many men he was responsible for, including the drunkard former Comte.

Athos was sat upright now, more aware of his surroundings. He had finished the flask and had dropped it on the bench beside him. Treville looked between the two men, seeing a solution to both problems.

"Athos," Treville called, resulting in the younger man looking up at him. When Athos realised it was the Captain he tried to stand but Treville placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Son, you may believe this is your only option, but drinking yourself into a stupor each night will not change the past."

"Not trying to change it…trying to forget," Athos said weakly. Porthos immediately felt like he was intruding. He had never seen Athos so vulnerable and broken, he was normally so reserved. Treville, however, was able to break down those walls. Having not been dismissed by his Captain, Porthos remained where he was, trying not to draw Athos' attention.

After hearing Athos' words, Treville crouched before the man, holding his shoulders as he looked up into the pain filled green eyes.

"We can never forget son, only try to atone for what we've done. You told me that's why you're here, that's why I gave you this chance."

"I'm trying…I just…I don't know how...," Athos said, voice cracking as the alcohol and Treville's understanding loosened his tongue.

"I know, but this is not the way," Treville replied, squeezing Athos' arm. "You have met Porthos?" the Captain asked, seeming to change the subject. Porthos stood their awkwardly, assured that Athos wouldn't recognise him; not when they only met properly after Athos had already become drunk. Athos' green eyes flickered up to Porthos as if noticing his presence for the first time.

"I have…though I am yet to introduce myself in a sober state for I am too ashamed by my actions," Athos stated. Porthos' mouth gaped open. "Forgive me, you must think me beyond rude; and yet you seem to come to my aid each night regardless."

"I thought you just forgot," Porthos replied, making Athos frown and shake his head.

"I never forget."

"Well, now that I'm convinced you understand your debt to Porthos you can follow an order," Treville stated, standing up now Athos was more himself. "Instead of going to taverns, you will remain here and help Porthos with his fencing."

"Cap'n, Athos don't owe me anything…," Porthos began, only to fall silent under Treville's stern glare. Porthos quickly realised that Athos helping him with his sword wasn't just about Porthos' skills, but Athos' general wellbeing. "You're the best swordsman in the regiment, I would be a fool to waste your talents."

"Not having alcohol will be difficult," Athos admitted, flushing red with embarrassment at that fact.

"Then you better get used to our own supply and drinking in company," Treville replied. The Captain then squeezed Athos' shoulder one last time and nodded to Porthos; leaving them to get better acquainted. He was about to enter the armoury when he heard a horse behind him.

A cloaked rider rushed through into the yard, dismounting in an instant. Athos and Porthos immediately stepped between him and Treville, hands on their sword-hilts.

"A message…a message from the Cardinal Sir," the rider gasped, out of breath as he ignored the stances of Athos and Porthos and held out the note. Treville pushed through his two men, grabbing the parchment and unravelling it to read the message. His stomach dropped and breathing no longer came naturally as the words sunk in.

"Cap'n?"

"Captain?" Porthos and Athos said, worried; only no response came.

"What's going on out here? You lot should be in bed," a voice suddenly called from behind them as old Serge the cook came out from his rooms by the kitchen. The voice of an old friend seemed to snap Treville out of his reverie. He crumpled the note into a fist and turned around to face the cook. "Captain, didn't know you were out here…what is it?" Serge asked, noticing the almost scared look on Treville's face.

"Serge…I…I need…," Treville stumbled, hand shaking to the observance of everyone present.

"You've worked yourself to hard Captain with most of the men away. You've gone and made yourself sick."

"No…its…"

"You two," Serge stated to Athos and Porthos. "Help get the Captain back to his rooms and send for a doctor, I'll make a broth…"

"No!" Treville suddenly snapped, making the old cook go silent. Despite witnessing Treville's temper on many occasions he had never seen the Captain like this; he appeared almost mad. "The Cardinal has sent word," Treville stated before taking a breath to calm down. He had not meant to shout at his old friend but anxiety was creeping in. "His spies in Savoy report the Duke sent men against the Musketeer force stationed there; …the twenty-two men I sent on a training exercise last week…"

Athos and Porthos both stood in shocked silence as those words sank in. There would have been no warning. No doubt they were attacked in their sleep.

"I don't believe…no…they'll all be alright Captain," Serge stated, fiddling with his sleeve. "Don't trust these spies…besides, level heads on those boys. Hmm…Aramis would have seen anyone coming…great eyes on that boy…great eyes…look after each other they do…Marsac…Aramis…Tristan…Luc…"

"Serge," Treville interrupted gently, wishing he had the same false optimism. "I'm leaving you in charge of the garrison. Please prepare some food for three riders; I do not want to stop when we are on the road." Serge didn't have the words to reply, he simply hobbled back into the kitchen to do as he was bid as quickly as possible. "You," Treville said, turning to the messenger. "Return to the cardinal and tell him I have left to validate these claims. And tell him…tell him I expect answers upon my return."

"Sir," the man replied, tipping his hat to the Captain before mounting his horse and riding away. Treville then looked at Athos and Porthos, who both waited patiently in silence for their orders. Athos seemed to have fully recovered from his drunken state following his conversation with Treville and looked ready to ride; equally Porthos had a determined look in his eyes. "You two will accompany me to Savoy. Saddle your horses and mine. I need to get a few things and there is no time to waste. This will not be a comfortable ride gentleman."

"Captain," they both replied in unison as they hurried into the stables and set to their tasks; both attending to Treville's horse first. Porthos did the saddle whilst Athos tended to the reigns; both checking their work twice before moving on to their own horses. They would not let their Captain down; especially not today.

Treville hurried back to his office, grabbing his purse from his cupboard before picking up his spare cloak; the night air had a horrible chill. He then hurried back down the stairs and into the storeroom, picking up many of the essential medical items that he had seen Aramis pack multiple times. Treville paused, leaning against one of the tables as he fought to remain calm. He could almost picture Aramis standing in front of him, equipment laid out on the table as he went through the stock with Treville; telling him what they didn't need and what they needed more of. He had been smiling and somehow managing to make jokes out of his many adventures and experiences with wounds; too many for one so young.

"Captain," Athos suddenly said behind him, standing in the doorway. "We are ready."

"Good, take these for you and Porthos," Treville said, handing the man the small saddlebags before taking one for himself. When they left the room Treville saw that Serge had already returned with the food and was assisting Porthos in packing it. Treville quickly packed the medical bag as Athos did the same with his and Porthos'. Under usual circumstances Treville would be impressed by how the two men seemed to work in harmony with each other, but right now the Captain had little care for such matters. Right now he needed to know if his men were alive; or if he had indeed sent them to their deaths.

 **Next chapter will include Aramis... Please Fav/Fol/REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow what a response! Such a welcoming Fandom!**

 **This is a short chapter, but didn't want to keep you guys waiting!**

 **Deana: Ahh you're like a fanfic celeb. Can't believe you reviewed my story and liked it. I love yours so much. Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **Enjoyedit: Thanx again, sent you a PM in response to yours.**

 **Pallysdeeks: Cheers for the review, I hope I do the awesome Savoy story credit.**

 **Randomite: Thanks for the praise.**

 **Middle earth Musketeers: Quick update...though its because its so short. Will try to keep writing fast.**

 **Musketeer1: I admit...oops. But! I have come up with a solution. Please keep reading...the spy's words can't be confirmed.**

 **Sarah: Really? Thanx so much. I always think the characters are the most difficult to get right, but also the best part of any story.**

 **Jmp: Love Savoy stories too, always read them and now I'm having a go. Treville is one of my faves and is really under-used in the fanfic community so I love it when he comes up in other people's stories. Athos and Porthos will have to wait till next chapter, but here is Aramis.**

 **Jasperslittlesister: Yikes, long username ;) Hope you enjoy this chapter too!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing below :) sadly...**

Awareness came back to him slowly, eyes blinking open as his head throbbed. He was laid on his side, breath visible as it left his mouth. It was cold; too cold, but he wasn't shivering. His fingertips clawed the dirt as he tried to push himself up; eyes searching the trees in front of him for an answer. Aramis was nearly able to support himself on his elbows when a sharp pain hit his side making him collapse back onto the ground, head spinning. His hand reached his stomach and came away with blood. He'd been stabbed and most likely had a concussion from how much his head hurt.

Freezing, Aramis clenched his jaw and forced his stiff legs to bend as he tried to push himself up again. He was able to grab the tree beside him, leaning against it to help him up. It was a painful and drawn out task, but he eventually found himself standing; though he still had a grip on the wood beside him.

He searched the treeline in front of him, seeing nothing. He tried to remember why he was here, how he had gotten into this situation, but his mind was too muddled. Gripping one of the lower branches above his head, Aramis turned to look in the other direction. Through the trees he could spot a campsite; …his campsite. They had been on a training mission…there had been men…armed men…screams…blood…

Aramis didn't waste another moment; stumbling through the forest towards the clearing. His steps were clumsy, making him fall against several trees in his haste to get there quicker; face scraped by loose branches hanging low, but he didn't care about that. Aramis broke the tree-line and stilled, breath knocked out of him. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees as he was met by the horrific sight in front of him.

Bodies...Frozen figures lay across the forest floor; eyes open in death. There wasn't a soul alive bar Aramis and the man stood before him; Marsac. Aramis' eyes burned as his mind replayed the night before; how he had wounded the leader only to be struck across the head. He remembered Marsac dragging him away, half-conscious. He remembered trying to re-join the fight only to held down and silenced by his friend. He remembered not being able to breath as Marsac held a hand over his mouth to stop his cries of rage and pain. He remembered the fear in his friend's eyes. And now…now he saw only shame in Marsac's features. His friend faced him, but did not see. He was broken; a shell of a man. Aramis watched in silence as the soldier pulled off his pauldron, dropping it onto the forest floor. He was a soldier no more. Aramis held his breath as his friend walked away, leaving him. As soon as he was out of sight Aramis broke; gasping for air before rasping his name. Calling for him to come back. Begging him not to leave him alone.

Desperate, Aramis struggled to rise and follow the Musketeer. He took two rushed steps when his foot slipped on the frozen soil, sending him crashing to the ground; crying out in pain. Consciousness left him for a moment, blacking out from the force of the fall. Letting out a whimper, he came to and rolled onto his side. Tristan lay before him, hand reaching for the sword hilt beside Aramis. His eyes were open, blood running down his chin from the stab wound to his lung.

"No," Aramis choked, not believing his eyes as he grabbed the outstretched hand only to flinch away when his skin met the ice grip. Aramis' confused mind played tricks on him as he backed away in horror only to fall against another frozen figure; Luc. "No…" They were everywhere, there was not escape. Aramis' breathing sped up, hyperventilating with fear. He was alone...all alone…with the dead…with their eyes always watching him…twenty dead men and he survived…why did he survive? Aramis' throat hitched, fear turning to anguish as a sob broke through. His hands buried themselves in his hair, pushing off the makeshift bandage he hadn't even noticed before. He cried, resting his head on his knees so he didn't have to look. Yet he still saw them. Their faces were in his mind; their unspoken accusations filling his ears. Why didn't he save them? Why was he alive?

 **Hope you guys enjoyed it ...i know its short sorry :) Next up Athos and Porthos again.**

 **Please fol/fav/ REVIEW! Thanx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer; i own nothing below.**

At a good pace, Savoy was a weeks ride from Paris, but Treville had no intention of travelling at merely a good pace.

As soon as the horses had begun to tire, the Captain had entered the nearest settlement, buying three more each time at high prices; planning to sell them back at a normal price upon their return. Treville had no time to waste bartering, he had to get to his men as soon as possible.

This continued for two days and nights, with the trio rarely stopping, preferring to eat in the saddle with their horses always moving forward. Treville's eyes burned with a fierce determination unlike anything Athos or Porthos had ever seen. Neither of them would be the cause of delay and thus they both kept up with the older man; despite their exhaustion and pain.

When the third day dawned Porthos was sat hunched in the saddle, shoulders low as his horse trotted behind Treville's. His back ached and the saddle made his rear hurt continuously. The Captain was faring little better, though the man kept his jaw clenched and back straight; years of experience keeping him strong in his posture. Treville was too focused on the task ahead to let mere weakness stop him. Porthos envied that. Of course Porthos wanted to get to the men, he wanted to help in anyway he could; but they were effectively strangers. Porthos had only been in the regiment a couple of weeks before the twenty men had left. In that short time, he had been ignored by many due to his colour; though not when Treville was looking. Only a few had ever spoken to him properly, and only one had ever truly been friendly; …Aramis.

 _Porthos had been staring at the marksman's shooting talents when the young Musketeer had caught him and beckoned him over. Porthos did as he was told, though unsure at first; he did not know how the man would react. The Musketeer, however, had smiled at him as he prepared another musket for a round._

" _Porthos isn't it?" the man had asked._

" _Hmm…uh yes," Porthos stumbled, not expecting him to know his name._

" _Aramis," the Musketeer said, holding out his spare hand and revealing a black eye on the right side of his face. Porthos shook the offered hand gladly as the talented Musketeer continued to grin at him. "Our dear Captain speaks very highly of you; especially about your brawling skills. Alas, I fear I am lacking in that area…something Treville was all to keen to remind me of this morning," Aramis continued, running a hand over his bruised eye._

" _The Cap'n done that?" Porthos blurted out._

" _Heavens no," Aramis replied, chuckling. "This particular injury came from the rather strong fist of Monsieur DuVoille. …I may have been caught inquiring about the health of his wife…and well…lets just say neither me or Madame expected to be interrupted." Porthos couldn't help but let out a laugh at the man's audacity._

" _You managed to get away though."_

" _In a manner of speaking…Monsieur DuVoille had me thrown out the front door. Unfortunately, it so happens that Treville was passing by at that exact moment. Now I find myself with the delightful task of checking and altering every single musket in the armoury." Porthos suddenly noticed that lined up along the garrison wall were about fifty muskets and that Aramis had only fired four._

" _Maybe you should try the ones without husbands…" Porthos stated, staring at the weapons._

" _Perhaps," Aramis replied smiling. "Though like I said I didn't expect her husband to come back. I even had Marsac on guard; something must have distracted him," Aramis continued, a slight doubt in his voice._

" _I would help, but my knowledge of muskets isn't too great." Aramis smiled at that, the thought of Marsac forgotten._

" _Then I'll teach you," Aramis said, holding out the weapon in his hand._

" _You don't have to…"_

" _How about a trade? I teach you to shoot and you teach me to punch?"_

" _Alright," Porthos huffed, taking the gun. Aramis wasn't going to accept a no and Porthos wanted to learn._

 _Hours later Porthos and Aramis sat together, cleaning the final muskets and talking. They both didn't notice Treville approach. The Captain cleared his throat as he stood in front of his men._

" _Captain," Aramis started, jumping up from seat; Porthos doing the same._

" _I see you acquired help," Treville stated, glaring at Aramis._

" _A service for a service Sir," Aramis replied, voice serious and full of respect; the care free tone from before gone. Treville looked to Porthos who nodded his head in confirmation._

" _Very well," Treville said, before he held up a hand to Aramis' chin, turning the young Musketeer's head so he could see the bruised eye better. "You, Marsac, Tristan and Luc will be going with last year's recruits to Savoy on a training exercise next week. All four of you are candidates for the Lieutenant position. Do you understand me?"_

" _Sir," Aramis confirmed, eyes looking down, ashamed that he had let his Captain down._

" _Don't give me a reason to not choose you. No more married lovers Aramis, or you'll be confined to the garrison." The young Musketeer nodded, still looking away. Treville sighed, releasing him before picking up one of the cleaned muskets; looking at the perfect finish on it. "This is good work," he stated to both of them before departing; hoping that Aramis would heed his words. Aramis deserved the Lieutenant position, but Treville couldn't give it to the youth unless his behaviour improved. He was too reckless for his own good._

" _I'm going to have to refrain from women," Aramis declared sadly to Porthos once Treville was gone._

" _He didn't say all women," Porthos said, admiring the young man more now he saw how highly Treville regarded him._

" _Oh Porthos…he may as well have done. I'm cursed. I shall always want what I can't have. I have never loved a woman without an obstacle between us."_

 _After that Aramis had gone quiet, mind lost in memories of the women he had loved. Isabelle being at the forefront of them all. Aramis had spoken to Porthos in passing over the next few days, but he had been on duty at the palace most of the time. When the twenty-two men prepared to leave, Aramis went over to Porthos and promised that he would start teaching Porthos to shoot upon his return. Porthos smiled at that, promising that he would help him get better at brawling when he came back…_ if he came back.

Sighing, Porthos tried not to think about what they would find in Savoy. The big man turned in the saddle to look back at his other companion; Athos. The man was faring worse than himself and was completely hunched in the saddle, asleep. Porthos turned his horse and rode up alongside Athos. Now both Athos and Porthos' horse followed Treville's, with Porthos able to keep an eye on the other man; he didn't want him to fall out of the saddle.

This continued for a half hour when Treville's horse stopped. The Captain turned, dark circles under his eyes as he looked back at his men in sympathy. Athos jerked awake as his horse came to a stop and he realised both Porthos and Treville were looking at him.

"Forgive me. We should continue," Athos stated.

"No," Treville dismissed softly. "We all need rest. There is a village near the border. We should get a couple hours sleep and then continue. On fresh horses, we are only a few hours away."

When they arrived at the inn Treville went straight for his room.

"Cap'n, you should eat something first," Porthos stated.

"Food will not tempt me right now Porthos," Treville replied softly. "Get what rest you can. We should arrive at the forest after only a few hours ride and then we shall need to find them."

"Very well Cap'n," Porthos finished, going to sit beside Athos who had ordered two lots of broth. "Do you think there is any hope?" Porthos asked, grabbing a bowl and diving in.

"No," Athos replied instantly, making Porthos bristle at the cold tone.

"They're Musketeers…"

"They are flesh and blood Porthos; no more. If they survived the attack they will not have lasted through cold this long. If we had not been riding, we too would have succumbed to this winter."

"Perhaps they got help…"

"The spot was chosen for the exercise because it is deserted. No-one would have reason to be there."

"How can you say that? Don't you care at all? Don't you understand what this will mean, what this will do to Treville?" Porthos asked, angry at Athos' coldness.

"He should not care so much," Athos replied.

"Treville's the finest man and greatest Captain I know because he cares," Porthos growled.

"My words are not advice for being a good Captain, merely how to live a less painful life." Porthos face instantly softened at Athos' hurt filled words. It was clear the man had lost someone.

"Who were they?"

"I…I don't talk about it." Porthos grunted in acceptance. "Come, lets get some rest," Athos continued, standing and walking to one of the rooms; Porthos in tow. Treville was on one of the beds, eyes open and staring at the ceiling despite his exhaustion. He couldn't sleep through the anxiety. He couldn't help but picture his men all dead before him. He could only pray that was not the case.

* * *

Steam filled the air in front of his face as Aramis breathed slowly. His back was against the tree, wrapped in a cloak. The frost had frozen him in position, feet and legs stuck to the icy ground below him. His pupils were wide open, staring out into the distance. He didn't know how long he had been there…he didn't know what had come before. All that existed was this clearing…this clearing of the dead.

Something pinched his leg, pain flooding his dulled mind. Aramis looked down at the numb limb to see a bird beside it, beak attacking his skin where the trousers were ripped. Aramis' eyes rolled back, head resting against the tree. He didn't care. He welcomed the pain. The pain reminded him how to feel.

A cacophony of cries filled the air and more birds landed in the clearing. Aramis watched the ravens dart about, looking for food. He found a small sense of peace seeing the living creatures beside him, walking across the frost until they found flesh…flesh… Aramis jolted away from the tree, scrambling to stand only to fall. He desperately crawled towards the bodies of his friends, throat burning as he tried to shoo the birds away.

The ravens withdrew as their meal was disturbed by the other creature. Aramis looked upon the bodies in fear as he saw the peppered skin, bloody from the attack. He continued to wave his hands in offense as the birds returned. It worked for a short while, but the birds only grew in confidence. Going mad with rage Aramis started to scream at the birds, but they ignored him, not scared by his cries. Aramis could only watch as the birds attacked the bodies he couldn't reach, too injured and ill to reach them. He lay on the ground, unshed tears filling his eyes.

In front of him Aramis saw one bird ignore the bodies and attack a piece of leather on the ground. He gasped, realising what it was. With all his strength Aramis clawed the ground, pulling himself along the blood-stained snow to reach the item. When he reached it, Aramis waved the bird away aggressively, clutching the pauldron tight to his chest. He lay their shivering in his shirt, the mark of a Musketeers protected in his arms. The pauldron of his friend was safe. Marsac had gone to get help, he would want his pauldron back when he returned. Marsac would want it back when he came for him. Marsac would want the pauldron back. Marsac would want it back. Marsac would…Marsac…

* * *

Treville, Athos and Porthos rode with a new sense of determination as they went through the woods in which the men had camped. All three of them needed to see for their own eyes what had happened to the twenty-two Musketeers; none more-so than Treville. Half an hour into the trees they found what they had been chasing for three days.

Treville dismounted, crouching beside the first body. He gently turned the corpse over, breath rushing from him as the dead eyes stared up at him. Treville gripped the man's shoulder, thumb tracing over the cotton shirt.

"They were attacked in their sleep," the Captain whispered, heart broken as he lifted his head to look upon the clearing of death; his men had been massacred.

"We'll line them up and count them," Athos said quietly to Porthos as they looked upon the scene. They both had no words of comfort for their grieving Captain. What could they possible say to ease the pain? They could do nothing but deal with the hard labour, shooing the birds away before carrying the bodies over. They would let their Captain mourn them. To Athos and Porthos, the men were practically strangers.

Eventually, Treville stood shakily, and moved on into the clearing. He stood in the centre, looking around at the dead men littered across the forest floor. Porthos walked past him, eyes glancing to the figure of the fallen marksman beside Treville. Porthos took a step in his direction before moving on, he couldn't bring himself to pick-up Aramis' corpse. He had to remain emotionless, or else he would not be able to complete his task, and both he and Treville would both be shocked still.

It did not take long for Treville's gaze to drift from the men in the distance to the body beside his feet. The Captain of the Musketeer's collapsed to his knees, halting both Athos and Porthos.

"No," Treville gasped, "no…no God please…" he croaked, head falling to rest against the marksman's chest as his fingers gripped the frozen body beneath him. Treville breathed harshly before the tears took over as he saw the pauldron gripped in Aramis' hands. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry son…," Treville choked through his crying as he clasped Aramis' face with his gloved hands. Treville kissed the youth's ice cold brow before he placed a hand on the pauldron to take it off of him; he would keep it as a reminder of the loss he felt.

Treville began to pull it away but found it stuck in the icy grip. Gently, Treville placed his hands on Aramis' and tried to move the fingers away from the leather. They shifted an inch when suddenly the grip strengthened and a weak moan filled the silence. Treville's stomach dropped as Aramis' peaceful face twisted in pain and his eyes fluttered open.

"Aramis?" Treville gasped, leaning further over the youth and tearing his gloves off to hold the Musketeer's face gently. Fear filled eyes stared up at him, confused and lost. "You're alive," Treville almost cried, pulling the young man up into his arms as Athos and Porthos stood frozen in place, not believing their eyes. Aramis struggled weakly in the grasp in order to get away and keep the pauldron safe. "Its alright Aramis. You're safe son…you're safe now," Treville soothed, rubbing Aramis' back in steady circles as the young man's head fell against his Captain's shoulder. "Get a fire going, we need to warm him up," Treville stated to Athos and Porthos as he continued to hold the man against his chest, trying to take away some of the chill.

The two Musketeers quickly set about preparing everything they could, neither of them questioning how Aramis had survived; it was nothing less of a miracle.

"Mar…Marsac," Aramis croaked beside Treville's ear, gripping the pauldron tighter.

"I'm sorry Aramis…I'm so sorry."

"No…, back…M..sac coming ba…ck…," he continued, fighting to be released. Treville loosened his grip, letting Aramis lean back and search the woods around the. As he held him Treville looked down to see that the pauldron he had assumed was Aramis' was in fact Marsac's.

"Aramis," Treville said sharply, getting the man's attention. "Where's Marsac? Did he go for help?" The young man met his gaze for a moment before he groaned, eyes dropping as his neck failed to support him. Treville pulled him close once again, tapping Aramis' cheek gently to try and wake him up. "Aramis…Aramis…stay awake…please. I need you to stay awake…," Treville begged, not ready to let Aramis die in his arms. "Porthos!" Treville called, which caused the big man to come running over fearing the worst. "Search the bodies. I need you to find Marsac. I need to know if he's here."

"He's not Captain," Athos suddenly said from behind, drawing both their attentions. "There's only twenty bodies…and a single set of tracks heading west."

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	4. Chapter 4

**Dislclaimer: I own nothing below**

Treville clenched his jaw as he heard the meaning behind Athos' words. Marsac had abandoned Aramis. He had abandoned a friend and fellow Musketeer to die in the snow; in a wasteland of corpses.

As gently as he could Treville pulled Aramis against his chest once again, one hand rubbing circles over his back as the other held his head against his shoulder. He would do anything to save the young man any more pain.

"If Marsac ever shows his face again, I will see justice be done," Treville promised, meeting both men's eyes. "But right now, our focus is Aramis. Athos, you were making a fire. Porthos, I need you to help me check him." Athos and Porthos immediately focused on the task at hand following Treville's words. Their Captain knew how to lead his men. He knew that if there was any chance of saving Aramis, their thirst for avengement would have to wait.

Porthos pulled out his knife and cut through the shirt Aramis wore. He began to pull the fabric off his back when the shirt stuck to the marksman's side making the man whimper in pain, burying his head further into Treville's shoulder for comfort.

"Easy Aramis," Treville soothed, running his hand along the man's side to feel the wound on his chest. "The blood has dried the cloth to his skin. We'll need water to soak it loose," Treville instructed Porthos, who got to his feet. "And Porthos. When we do this, it will most likely bleed anew. I'll need the medical kit from the saddlebags."

"Sir," Porthos replied, gulping a little at the information. The marksman was too weak to lose more blood.

When he returned, Athos had a fire going and blankets laid out a few metres away. With Porthos nearby to lend a hand if he needed, Treville slowly stood; Aramis held in his arms like a babe. He walked over to the fire and gently laid Aramis down on the blanket by the flames, pleased when Aramis' head moved to face the warmth.

"I'll need you to keep him still," Treville said to both of his men. "He'll fight me with this…he always fights me," Treville whispered, both men hearing the pride within those words. Porthos knelt opposite Treville, placing his hands on Aramis' hips whilst Athos grabbed his shoulders. Nodding that they were ready, Treville poured water on the wound, making the dried blood run down. Slowly he pulled the shirt as Aramis tried to squirm away.

The wound itself was red, but no infection had set in due to the cold air. If they cleaned it and stitched it Aramis should recover. Treville threaded the needle, before grabbing a small bottle of spirit supplied in the medical bag. Taking a breath in preparation, Treville poured the liquid onto the wound, forcing himself to continue when Aramis cried out, eyes opening as his legs thrashed to remove the pain when his chest could not.

"P,,,please…sto…stop!" Aramis rasped, fighting Porthos and Athos' holds with everything he had. "Get off me! Get off me!" he cried, as Treville tried to begin the needlework; fearful eyes snapping between Treville, Porthos and Athos.

"Keep him still!" Treville shouted, pain laced in his words at the thought. Porthos reluctantly held the wounded man tighter whilst Athos bowed his head to whisper in the marksman's ear, too soft for the others to hear. Treville and Porthos watched in amazement as Aramis' fight slowly left him, the young man still tensed in pain, but allowing the treatment. Athos glanced back at Treville and nodded for the man to start stitching, before he returned to talking to Aramis when the pain grew worse.

Halfway through Aramis went limp, Athos leaning back when the eyes of the man closed.

"Unconscious," Athos assured, knowing the other two were startled by the sudden change. Porthos released his bruising grip as Treville finished the stitching quicker now Aramis was completely still. They then bandaged the Aramis' side before letting him lie peacefully on the blankets; noticing that the marksman had begun to shiver, the fire bringing him back from his frozen temperature.

"Fires gonna take too long," Porthos grunted, before he started to pull his own doublet and shirt off; goose bumps appearing instantly across his huge chest. Knowing his intention, Athos and Treville delicately turned Aramis so that he rested on his uninjured side so that Porthos could put his chest against the marksman's back; arms wrapping around the now unconscious man. Treville then pulled out the spare cloak he had packed, draping it over the two of them, so that they stayed relatively warm. "He feels like ice…and I don't like the look of that," Porthos stated, one hand stroking back some of Aramis' hair on the side of his face.

Treville instantly looked closer, noticing the bruised lump with a trail of blood running down from it.

"A pistol butt most likely," Treville stated, having seen such an injury many times before. "Enough to knock him out, but no more," he continued relieved. "We need to get him back to Paris."

"It is not safe to leave until he is warmed through," Athos replied, adding more wood to the fire.

"Then we go as soon as he is. I will speak with the coroner of the closest town and have him see to the bodies. I will then send a message back to the Garrison to organise a Musketeer escort for the cart," Treville said before he coughed and swallowed. "…the carts," he corrected; hand clenching once again.

"We won't forget them Cap'n," Porthos assured. Treville smiled sadly at the man, squeezing his shoulder before he stood; walking between the bodies of his men, closing their eyes and saying goodbye.

Athos sighed, kneeling before Porthos as he tucked the cloak tighter around Aramis.

"Athos…what did'ya say to Aramis?" Porthos asked, not understanding how the man had been able to soothe the pain filled marksman.

"I used his own words against him," Athos said cryptically, before moving to help Treville with the bodies.

 _"Aramis! Someone find him! The Captain's been shot!" Luc shouted between breaths, nearly collapsing as his brother appeared from the armoury._

" _Where is he?" Aramis asked, worry filling him as he grabbed his struggling comrade._

" _Marsac's bringing him in now, you'll need to gather your supplies." Aramis nodded, squeezing Luc's arm before he took off to the supply room, grabbing his equipment before moving to the mess hall. A few moments after he had placed his bag down the door reopened admitting a sweating and bloody Treville supported by Marsac; followed by Luc and another Musketeer carrying a stranger between them._

" _Captain," Aramis hurried over only to be met with an angry glare from Treville who shrugged out of Marsac's grip. "You're shoulder," Aramis stated, seeing the bloody white shirt covering his right upper arm._

" _Its fine," Treville said sternly, trying and failing to fully support himself as Marsac and Aramis grabbed him. "See to him," Treville stated, looking at the stranger who was being laid down on the table by Luc. "That's an order Aramis," he continued, meeting the marksman's gaze._

" _If you sit," the young man replied, smiling slightly as Treville reluctantly let Marsac guide him down into one of the chairs. "Put pressure on his wound," Aramis instructed passing Marsac a bandage before hurrying over to the stranger._

" _Stab wound to the stomach," Luc said, pulling the man's tunic away to show Aramis._

" _What happened?" Aramis asked in return as he gathered his things, immediately beginning to deal with the wound; the man was thankfully unconscious._

" _We were returning from the Palace when we came across a robbery in the process. Treville got them to stop but one of them got nervous and fired. Would have killed him if this man hadn't knocked the shooter just in time. Got a stab wound for his trouble, too drunk to recover quick enough. Will he survive?"_

" _I believe so," Aramis replied, looking back at Treville who was waving Marsac away. "Perhaps you should leave the room with Marsac. You know how the Captain does not like witnesses when it is revealed he is merely human." Luc smiled at that, nodding his head before walking over to Marsac and pulling him out of the room behind him._

" _He saved my life," Treville said, wincing as he stood and came over to the table. Aramis frowned at him, keeping his peripherals locked on his Captain as he finished stitching the stranger's wound._

" _You put yourself in harm's way too much," Aramis replied, cutting the thread._

" _Perhaps you should listen to your own words," Treville said, remembering the many times the young man had found himself in a bad way; gravely wounded and close to death._

" _I am not the Captain of the Musketeers!" Aramis retorted. "This place would fall without you. Then what would we do? What would I do?" he continued, knowing that he always looked to Treville before doing anything. He was his leader, his role model and father figure._

" _You won't need me forever son," Treville replied, "you would find your way. You always have," he continued, picturing the boy he had come across on the battlefield so long ago. Headstrong and cocky; yet loving and kind. The boy had found his calling, fighting the enemy and healing his own. Treville only needed to witness the boy's shooting talents once before he took Aramis under his wing; making him one of the first Musketeers. It was madness to think that was five years ago now._

" _Let me see your wound," Aramis said, changing the subject; not willing to bring up the past. Treville sighed, taking a seat and letting the marksman deal with the bullet hole in his shoulder. Thankfully it was a through and through. "You'll live."_

" _A miracle," Treville replied, standing slowly, still slightly dizzy from the blood loss._

" _You should rest," Aramis insisted as Treville made his way to the door; knowing the Captain was leaving to check on the Garrison._

" _Call for me if he wakes," Treville replied, not promising that he would go to bed._

" _Of course."_

" _One day you'll find you don't need me anymore Aramis," Treville said as he opened the door. "Thank-you son."_

 _Aramis sighed as Treville left, running a hand through his hair as he turned to look at the man on the table. He was roughly his own age, but something seemed to age him immensely. Something gave him a melancholic expression._

 _A gasp of air suddenly came from the man as he came to, groaning._

" _Easy," Aramis said, gripping his arm. The man didn't like that however. His eyes snapped open and somehow Aramis found himself pinned against the floor a moment later; hand locked on his throat. Aramis couldn't breathe, his hands desperately clawing at the tight grip on his neck as he tried to knock his attacker off. Moving his leg with force Aramis gasped for air as his knee contacted the man's wound; forcing him to let go. Without delay Aramis rolled them so that their positions were opposite; the stranger now beneath him._

" _Just do it!" the man shouted, struggling still. "Kill me!" Aramis gasped at the pain and desperation he saw in those eyes. "Make it end."_

" _No my friend," Aramis said, pinning the arms to the floor that tried to punch him. "Your fighting me for a reason…there's still something inside of you that wants to live. Focus on it! Take a deep breath…whatever hardship you have endured God has spared you for a reason. You are not done on this earth yet," Aramis implored as the man settled beneath him, calming with the marksman's words. "You're not done yet."_

Athos snapped out of his thoughts as Treville called his name.

"We are ready to leave," the Captain stated.

 **Sorry for the long delay. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanx for the great reviews, they really help keep me motivated!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing below.**

Aramis felt himself being rocked from side to side. There was something warm and strong behind him that he was leaning against. It was comforting as he himself felt so cold; as if ice, had replaced his bones. Shivering, Aramis nestled closer to the source of comfort, surprised when it suddenly shifted and something rough but gentle touched his face.

"…is…"

"am…is…"

"Ar…is…"

"Aramis," a voice called, trying to get his attention. He groaned at the sound, eyes fluttering open to see what had been summoning him. "There you are son," the course voice of his mentor filtered through and Aramis realised he was rested against Treville's back and that they were on a horse. "Aramis…can you hear me?"

"Capt…," Aramis whispered, before a coughing fit replaced the word, making him wince as pain from his stomach overwhelmed him.

"I've got you…easy," Treville soothed, holding him up when Aramis had too little strength to do so. "Drink this," Treville ordered, putting a flask to his lips. Aramis tried to gulp down the water in relief but his Captain cut him off. "Small sips son," he warned, only slightly tipping the flask for Aramis.

"Where…?" Aramis asked when he was finished drinking.

"On our way back to Paris. You're safe now son; you've slept for a few days. We are nearly home."

Frowning at the lack of recollection Aramis tilted his head up, looking around. Two horses stood beside their own, accompanied by two men Aramis recognised to be the two new recruits. Porthos, the man with the hearty laugh and an eagerness to learn. And Athos, the man who had saved the Captain's life and since then proved his worth with his swordsmanship; not revealing anything about his life to anyone but the Captain himself as Aramis guessed.

The two men were looking at him oddly. Concern filled Porthos' expression; whilst pity filled the eyes of both men. Why did they pity him?

"Aramis…what do you remember?" Treville asked, shifting the marksman's attention back to him.

"I…," Aramis began only to pause as he could not remember why he was there. Why did he feel so dead? Why did his side and head hurt? Why did he feel so cold?

"Aramis, do you remember arriving in Savoy?" Savoy…Aramis flinched at the word, wincing in pain as memories flooded back.

 _Tristan lay before him, hand reaching for the sword hilt beside Aramis. His eyes were open, blood running down his chin from the stab wound to his lung._

 _"No," Aramis choked, not believing his eyes as he grabbed the outstretched hand only to flinch away when his skin met the ice grip. Aramis' confused mind played tricks on him as he backed away in horror only to fall against another frozen figure; Luc. "No…" They were everywhere, there was not escape. Aramis' breathing sped up, hyperventilating with fear. He was alone...all alone…with the dead…with their eyes always watching him…twenty dead men and he survived…why did he survive? Aramis' throat hitched, fear turning to anguish as a sob broke through. His hands buried themselves in his hair, pushing off the makeshift bandage he hadn't even noticed before. He cried, resting his head on his knees so he didn't have to look. Yet he still saw them. Their faces were in his mind; their unspoken accusations filling his ears. Why didn't he save them? Why was he alive?_

"Look at me Aramis, look at me!" Treville's order broke through, snapping the marksman out of his nightmare. Aramis looked up to see Treville above him, feeling the cold ground beneath his back. His Captain was here. His Captain was here in Savoy amongst the dead.

"No! …you shouldn't be here! No…no…no why did you come! I didn't want you to die! Not you!"

"Aramis I'm alive. You're alive!" Treville shouted back, desperate to get through to the young man.

"Marsac!" Aramis screamed suddenly, eyes glazing over as he returned to his dream; making Treville's blood run cold. "Marsac! Don't leave me! Come back! Come back…don't leave me…" Aramis shouted until his voice broke and his shouts turns to cries, tears falling as his breath hitched. Treville couldn't comfort him, not when such anger for one of their own filled his thoughts. He stood and stepped back, barely noticing Porthos take his place beside the marksman as he took off in rage.

"Hey…its over, yeh?" Porthos stated, pulling the marksman up into an embrace. "You're breathing too hard Aramis…you gotta calm down for me…hey, deep breaths…match me will ya…like clockwork ain't it…like cleaning a pistol…you taught me how to do that 'mis," Porthos babbled, surprised by the fact it seemed to be working; be it very slowly. "Gotta first check that there's no ball in there don't ya…best way is just to fire it…then you gotta remove the cord…no point rubbing the rope clean hey?...That's what you told me 'mis…that's what you taught me…"

"Captain, where are you going?" Athos demanded as he caught up with Treville after he had walked down the hill beside the road.

"Keep an eye on the horses," Treville ordered.

"With all due respect Sir, it seems you are the one who needs watching," Athos said calmly, making Treville turn on him, anger filling his face.

"You want to repeat that Athos?" Treville warned.

"You are needed up there," Athos deflected, voice calm despite Treville's animosity. "You are a father to Aramis."

"I am his Captain not his father."

"Yet you love him as a son," Athos goaded. It worked Treville was now fully focused on Athos so the younger man decided to keep going; voice now displaying emotion, matching Treville's temper. "You're angry because he was betrayed by someone you trusted. You sent him on this mission. You put his life in danger! It is your fault that Aramis is lost in pain right now!" Treville punched the former Comte, sending him crashing to the ground, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Treville took a breath as he realised what had just happened, calming himself before he knelt beside Athos, pulling the man up.

"Are you done?" Athos asked, fixing Treville with a friendly stare. Treville huffed, running a hand over his face.

"And I thought it was my job to keep everyone focused," Treville replied, a slight lightness to his tone.

"Everyone is human Sir, even you." Treville sighed, clasping Athos' arm in thanks.

"He thinks we are ghosts; that he is dead."

"A conceivable idea given the circumstances," Athos admitted reluctantly. Treville's expressions grew hopeless at that. "This was never going to be a quick recovery. His injuries alone will take time to heal; his mind longer still. The garrison is the best place for him."

"Then let's make sure he is calm enough to ride," Treville stated in agreement, hurrying back to the road; Athos is tow. "Is he…?" Treville gasped, seeing the limp form of Aramis in Porthos' arms.

"Just sleeping, hadn't got the strength in him to keep up the fight," Porthos replied.

"We need to get moving, we should reach Paris tonight."

"Cap'n," Porthos agreed, standing up with Aramis cradled in his arms. Treville quickly mounted and with Athos' aid, they were able to get Aramis seated in front of the Captain once again.

…

"Serge! They're back!" the stable-boy shouted into the kitchen once he saw riders enter the garrison. The old cook quickly hobbled into view, picking up his pace when he saw the state of his Captain, Athos, Porthos and…Aramis in Treville's arms.

"One…only one…," Serge choked as he watched Aramis be lowered to Porthos before Treville dismounted. The Captain came over to Serge, gripping one of his shoulders tightly in brotherhood. Their eyes met for a moment and that was all the grief they would allow themselves for the time-being.

"Has everything run smoothly?" Treville asked, forcing himself to inquire about the King and the few men he had left behind; all of whom would be asleep for it was well into the night.

"Fine Captain, the red Guard continued to fill in just as they had before you left."

"Good. I will go to the King first thing tomorrow. For now, Aramis is my priority."

"He gonna make it Captain?" Serge asked worriedly as he saw the almost grey tinge to Aramis' usually lively face as Athos shifted the cloak to better cover Aramis in Porthos' arms.

"If we keep him warm, I think so. It is a miracle his wounds are not infected, let alone the fact that he is alive."

"Always was a strong lad." Treville nodded in agreement, memories of Aramis' previous injuries constantly hitting him.

"Athos and Porthos will need to eat and rest, it was a hard ride and they never faltered. I also want something ready in case Aramis wakes up and manages to hold something down; a broth would be best."

"I'll make enough for four," Serge stated, walking back into the kitchen before Treville could comment on the number. The Captain always did forget to look after himself.

Treville then turned to his men, proud when he saw the strength of Porthos' grip despite his exhaustion. Athos too was loyally fixed to both men's sides, ready to help; he seemed to always be there to help when needed these last few days; he had been Treville's rock through all of this and Porthos his hope and warmth.

"Can you manage the stairs?" Treville asked Porthos, frowning in sympathy as he saw the bags under the big man's eyes and the slight shake to his arms.

"He's light as a feather Cap'n," Porthos replied, standing up straighter. Treville saw Athos' reassuring nod, indicating he would be there to assist if need be, thus the Captain carried on.

"This way then," Treville stated, taking the stairs slowly as to not rush Porthos. The man did not falter and carried Aramis gently to the top, before following Treville the rest of the way. The Captain led them to his own office, holding the door open to allow them both inside. The two men seemed unsure of what to do from that point, not willing to touch any of their Captain's belongings. Smiling slightly, but wishing for Porthos to stop overburdening himself, Treville quickly went to his bed and pulled back the covers, gesturing for Porthos to lay Aramis down. The gentle giant did so whilst Treville went back outside. "Serge!"

"Yes Captain?" the cook shouted from below.

"Please bring clean bandages and fresh water with you."

"Yes Sir," the cook replied, waving at the stable-boy to come and help him. Treville then went back inside, closing the door against the chill. Athos was knelt by the fireplace, starting to set the kindling alight. He eyes looked slightly unsure when Treville caught his gaze but the Captain gave him a nod of encouragement, before he went to stand behind Porthos, who was checking Aramis' temperature.

"Any change?"

"No," Porthos replied in relief. "He's still cold though, like there's a never-ending chill to him."

"Not for long," Treville promised, squeezing the man's arm before he went to his cupboard; bringing out his brandy and three glasses. He poured the liquid high, before he walked over and held a glass out to Athos.

"I thought you advised sobriety?" Athos said dryly.

"Drink son, we need it," Treville insisted. Athos took the glass gratefully, drinking several sips before Porthos had been given his. When he had served the two of them, Treville picked up the two chairs in front of his desk and moved them closer to the bed. He then pulled his own chair so that it was nearer to Aramis. Taking the lead, he sat and was pleased when he didn't have to order his men to follow. Though, this no doubt meant that they were too exhausted to even question refusing.

"I presume that if I told you two to go rest, you would refuse?" Treville said before he took a gulp of the fiery liquid. Neither men answered, but Treville saw them sitting back in their chairs further, making it clear they were comfortable where they were. "I thought as much. Which is why I had you bring Aramis here; it is only room big enough for four. I will call for a physician in the morning, but I doubt there is little more to do but wait. Fortunately, his injuries are not too severe."

"Cap'n if you're to see the King tomorrow, should you not rest yourself?" Porthos dared to ask.

"I should…but once I return to court I fear I will be swept up in the politics of the situation; there will be little time to be with Aramis."

"You will discuss the spy's message?" Athos asked.

"Indeed. When the Cardinal contacted me he said the spy in Savoy had told him that the Duke had sent men against him. Which, could mean anything between the English were responsible or the Spanish are to blame. The Cardinal warned me my men had been attacked, that doesn't mean he did so truthfully."

"There was no way of identifying the men we saw, they did not carry anything of note."

"No…and perhaps we will never know the truth…I will soon need to look to the future," Treville said sadly, finishing his glass of brandy before he stood up and placed it down on the desk. "I will go help Serge with the supplies." Athos and Porthos immediately went to stand as well but Treville placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Keep an eye on him."

"Captain."

"Cap'n."

"He should rest," Porthos grunted. "Ain't had proper sleep for over a week now."

"Doubtless he won't for another," Athos replied, running a hand over his eyes.

"We need to lessen the load. He ain't gotta do it all himself."

"We are agreed then?" Athos asked, knowing Porthos would understand his meaning.

"Yeah," Porthos replied, grinning slightly at the challenge, "how hard could it be?"

 **Just a filler chapter, please Review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing below ;)**

To the great sadness of Treville, Aramis did not wake that night. Come morning, the Captain left for the Palace, calling upon a physician on his way; having warned Athos and Porthos to expect one. When he arrived at the Palace, his prediction of being overloaded was correct; the King and Cardinal both wanted to see him and the meetings would presumably be long.

Treville walked into court, ignoring the stares he received from the collection of nobility surrounding him. He went straight to the King and bowed before him, waiting for the King's gesture before he straightened.

"Thank goodness you're back Captain. Another moment in the company of your Red Guards Cardinal and I would have been overcome," the King joked to Richelieu for the benefit of the audience; the crowd laughing at his jest.

"I am glad to see you back Treville. You have been greatly missed," the Queen said, pity and sadness in her eyes.

"Thank-you Your Grace," the Captain replied to her before turning to the King. "Your Majesty, may we speak in private."

"Leave us," the King instantly said to the nobles, sending them off. The room now only contained the Cardinal, Queen, King and Captain. "Tell me, what of your men?" the King said in a more humble tone.

"Twenty out of the twenty-two dead Sire," Treville stated, making the Queen gasp, hand covering her mouth at the number.

"I trust the two survivors have everything they require. Were they wounded?"

"The Musketeer Aramis is at the garrison being tended to by a physician as we speak. The other…the other is a deserter. He is a criminal and a coward; nothing more."

"He deserted?" the King asked, shocked by the news. "A Musketeer?"

"A Musketeer no more Sire," Treville stated coldly.

"And Monsieur Aramis…," the Queen inquired. "Are his wounds serious?"

"His recovery will be lengthy Your Grace, but he is strong. He will pull through."

"I will pray for him," Anne said gently, seeing the pride Treville expressed about the man in those few words. Treville bowed his head to the woman in thanks; she was a merciful and kind Queen.

"My dear, this news had clearly hurt your sweet heart," the King said, placing her hand in his as she stood beside him. "Please rest…the shock will do you no good," he continued, hand ghosting over her stomach. Treville lowered his eyes as the Queen blushed. Only a few were privy to the knowledge that Anne had lost a child recently; Treville intended to keep it that way. The Queen quickly left once she was dismissed, feeling humiliated. The King had meant it kindly, but he had done it to dismiss her and he had done it in public. "You have been awfully quiet Cardinal. Perhaps now Her Majesty is gone you will tell Treville what we have discussed."

"Of course, Sire," Richelieu replied, stepping towards the Captain. "It was the Duke of Savoy who attacked your men."

"Why? For what reason would the Duke attack a training camp of Musketeers?" Treville demanded.

"If he believed they were there to assassinate him," the Cardinal stated.

"Why would…." Treville stilled, a bitter cold filling his body as he realised that he had been played. "You had me send my men to be slaughtered! You had the Duke believe they were there to kill him! You told them where they were camped!" Treville shouted, hands clenching as he desperately tried to stop himself from killing Richelieu.

"No," the King suddenly said, snapping Treville's head back to him. "It was I who gave the order."

"Your Majesty?" Treville gasped weakly, not believing what he was hearing. "You sentence your own regiment to death? Your own men…"

"Who are worth nothing in comparison to my sister."

"The King's advisor Cluzet had begun to suspect the Duchess' true loyalty," the Cardinal explained whilst Treville struggled to grasp the situation. "He had to be removed, the King had no choice. Whilst the Duke was distracted, one of my agents took Cluzet; he is now imprisoned here in Paris. The Duchess' position is now safe."

"My men were a distraction…"

"Yes, a distraction that worked well. They did not die in vain."

"They died for one woman's li…"

"Be careful Captain," the King warned coldly. "Say another word against my decision and I shall have you executed for treason." Treville took a deep breath, eyes focused on the ground as he tried to control his temper and pain. His men were dead because of him. They were dead because he was too stupid to realise that he was being used; too naive to understand the politics behind the crown he served. "You are my most loyal servant and friend Treville, but question me on this decision ever again and that will be it between us. Now, I command you to return to your men and tell them a Spanish raiding party was responsible for the attack."

"Your…"

"The Cardinal has all the evidence you require," the King continued, giving Treville a warning glare should he interrupt again. "Do this and rebuild. Refill your ranks Treville, in the meantime the Red Guard will assist where the Musketeers are short on numbers. I will leave you to it," the King said before he departed, ignoring the fact that Treville did not bow to him this once. If he acted this way again, the King would see him gone despite his affection for the man. Treville, himself, didn't even realise he had insulted his Majesty, he was too lost in his own guilt to comprehend what he had just done.

"Come Captain. I have the proof you will need to convince the rest of your men," Richelieu stated gently; knowing now was not the time to antagonise him. Treville followed the Cardinal's lead like a shadow, for a part had him had just died from the truth.

…

Porthos startled awake as Athos re-entered Treville's office. He rubbed his face with his hand to try and invigorate himself as the other man checked on Aramis; finding him still asleep, or unconscious; it was difficult to tell which.

"Well?" Porthos grunted, sleepily.

"Two."

"You're kidding?"

"No," Athos replied bluntly. "Besides us, there are two other Musketeers within the Garrison; Hugo and Lucas. I've had Hugo go to speak with Father Jubere about the graves and Lucas is guarding the gate," Athos stated, taking a seat. "Phillipe and Marcus are escorting the wagons from Savoy."

"The whole regiment's been wiped out…the King will probably disband us," Porthos said almost fearfully, he had nowhere else to go; the Musketeers was his home.

"Treville wouldn't let that happen," Athos assured for Porthos' sake; though even he now felt a dedication to the Musketeers himself. He wasn't Treville's pet project anymore, he was needed by the man; he had a purpose.

"Hope you're right," Porthos replied, rubbing his bandana between his thumbs in nervousness as he looked back at Aramis. As he stared he noticed a change in the man's breathing and his eyelids begin to flutter. "Athos; he's waking up," Porthos said, leaning closer and dropping the bandana as he placed a hand on Aramis'.

The marksman groaned as his head moved to the side, eyes blinking open.

"Aramis? You hear me?" Porthos asked as Athos stayed back, not wanting to overcrowd the man.

"Por….thos?" Aramis asked, confused.

"Yeah! It's me alright. You're back at the garrison; you're back home Aramis." Aramis seemed to register the fact as he looked around the room and recognised his surroundings as Treville's office. He was about to say something else when he remembered why two recruits stood in front of him rather than his old friends. His friends were dead and nothing would bring them back. There was nothing but pain and darkness in the world.

Athos and Porthos could only watch as they saw the coldness creep over the marksman as he pulled up walls around himself, eyes looking away from them. "Serge will be glad to know you're awake," Porthos said, hoping for a reaction. "Aramis?"

"Leave me," the marksman rasped, before he turned his whole head to face the wall; away from them. Porthos opened his mouth to speak again but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Athos gestured to the door and Porthos reluctantly followed him outside.

"I ain't gonna let him shut us out," Porthos said strongly, pacing on the balcony as Athos stayed motionless. "How are you so calm?!"

"He is lucid," Athos replied, taking note of the small victory. It was the first time Aramis had seemed aware of what was happening and not lost in a nightmare.

"But he don't wanna talk," Porthos said hopelessly.

"Would you?" Athos countered, making Porthos frown as he knew his answer. At that point Athos noticed a stranger enter the Garrison. "Watch Aramis," Athos ordered Porthos as he made his way down the steps towards the stranger. "Doctor Renauld I assume?"

"Correct young man. I believe you have a patient for me," Renauld replied. Athos nodded his head before leading the physician upstairs and into Treville's room. Porthos stood as they entered, blocking the route between the door and Aramis.

"Porthos, this is Doctor Renauld," Athos said, giving him a pointed glare which made Porthos reluctantly let the man by as he himself got closer to the marksman.

"Aramis, the Doctor is here," Porthos said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. Aramis instantly flinched making Porthos release his grip. Despite this, however, Aramis did not turn his head, but continued to stare at the wall.

"If you gentlemen will excuse us," Renauld stated having witnessed the exchange between the patient and giant. Porthos seemed to broaden his shoulders, fixing his stance to make it clear he was not moving.

"Porthos," Athos said with all the authority he could muster behind the single word. They stared at each other for a moment in a stalemate before Porthos grunted, walking past the Doctor to get outside. Porthos instantly returned to his previous habit of pacing the balcony, but Athos wouldn't let that continue. "Follow me," Athos said, walking down the stairs. Porthos did as he was told, though he hated ever step that took him further from Aramis.

Athos walked into the armoury and grabbed one handle of a chest in the corner. Porthos picked up the other-side and followed Athos' lead to take it outside and place it on the table. The former Comte then opened the chest, revealing multiple pistols and several muskets.

"Serge informed me they were delivered in our absence. They need to be cleaned and checked," Athos stated, picking up a pistol and handing it to Porthos. "I have seen you do such a task before."

"Aye…Aramis taught me how a few weeks back…"

"Then remind me to thank him," Athos said before he made his way to the kitchen.

"Why?" Porthos called.

"Because your pacing was infuriating," Athos muttered under his breath, entering the room to see Serge checking the stocks. "The physician is here."

"Right. I think I've got everything we need. You come and tell me if Renauld asks for anything. Mind, he usually provides his own draughts." Athos nodded in agreement, opening the door to leave. "And Athos…," Serge suddenly said, limping over to his as he wiped his hands on his dirty apron. "You don't let Aramis' silver tongue trick you; he's always been deceptive when he's hurting. Captain gives him a firm hand, doesn't let him side-step him, but Treville ain't gonna always be here for him now; not this time. You see him being difficult and you give him an order."

"I am not his superior," Athos argued.

"You better well act like it," Serge countered, limping back to his work. "Aint gonna like the outcome if you don't." Athos walked out following the vague warning. All he could gather was that Aramis had demons which Treville had helped him overcome in the past, but Treville would most likely be kept busy at the palace for the foreseeable future. Athos had to take charge of the situation.

When Athos re-entered the courtyard Porthos placed one of the pistols back on the table as Doctor Renauld came out of Treville's office and walked down the stairs.

"Well?" Porthos asked before the man had even reached the bottom.

"Physically he should make a full recovery," Renauld replied, making Porthos sigh in relief, but Athos frown. "This," the physician continued, pulling a bottle out of his bag and handing it to Athos, "is a pain draught to help him sleep peacefully. I have just given him some, but when he next wakes up have him eat some broth and then put two drops in water. I wish you good luck gentlemen," Renauld finished sadly before he took off out of the Garrison.

"Ha. He's gonna be fine," Porthos said happily, about to go upstairs when Athos' hand gripped his arm.

"Physically Porthos," Athos corrected. Porthos stared at Athos confused before the words sunk in. The big man shrugged himself out of Athos' grip and marched determinedly up the stairs, Athos behind him. The two of them returned to their vigil in silence, neither wanting to discuss the truth behind the Doctor's words.

…

 _"Come on place your bets. Don't be shy! There's no way you can lose," a boy on the verge of manhood shouted across the camp. "Five bottles and if I miss one you get your money back!"_

 _Treville frowned at the sight of the handsome youth before him. The boy was too young to have to witness the horror of the battlefield and he was too arrogant to stay alive. No doubt he would be killed come morning when they pressed their attack._

" _Ok, lets begin. Monsieur if you would be so kind," Aramis said to the man holding the five bottles as he stood beside the five pistols laid out on a barrel. "One!" he shouted as the first was thrown up into the air and he shot it, smashing the bottle. "Two!...Three!...Four!...Five! Ha! I did it. Pay up gentlemen."_

" _It's a trick!" a scarred man shouted at the boy, having gambled a vast amount of wages on the bet._

" _I assure you Sir I am just that good," Aramis replied cockily, grinning like a fool._

" _You aren't taking my money," the brute stated, grabbing his purse of the barrel and walking away. A sword tip suddenly rested against his neck, coming from the blade in the boy's hand._

" _Are we not men of honour friend?" the boy asked, making Treville pull away from the post he was resting against and walk towards them._

" _Is that a threat boy?" the brute growled._

" _A humble reminder," Aramis replied, hand over heart as he bowed. The dramatics, however, didn't go down well and the brute quickly knocked the blade away from him before hitting the boy straight in the face with a furious punch. Aramis crashed down into the mud, jaw on fire from the blow. Then the air was knocked out of him as a kick to his ribs sent him rolling onto his back. The brute then pulled his torso up by gripping the boy's shirt, preparing another punch._

" _Stop this at once!" a voice shouted, bringing the entire surrounding to silence. Aramis grunted as he was dropped back to the ground when someone pulled the brute away from him. "Your name soldier?"_

" _Dupont," the scarred man said reluctantly. Aramis frowned at the respectful tone as he struggled to look up and see what was happening above him, his now muddied hair was now covering his eyes and he was in too much pain to care to move it._

" _Report back to your Sergeant and inform him you have just forfeited a weeks pay," the commanding voice continued, leaving no room for argument._

" _Sir," Dupont grunted, walking off. Aramis then felt himself being pulled up by two strong grips to his arms. Dizzy from the punch to his head, Aramis focused on keeping his feet moving beneath him as he was guided away by the stranger. Soon enough the world seemed to get darker and he was forced to sit. Aramis took a moment to realise he had entered a tent and was now seated in a chair._

" _Look at me," a man said, grabbing Aramis' chin in his rough but gentle grip. Aramis met his gaze, blinking to clear the image as he noticed who was standing before him._

" _Captain Treville," Aramis stuttered, trying to stand only to be forcefully pushed back into his seat by the renowned soldier._

" _I said look at me," Treville ordered, making Aramis gulp, staring back at the pale blue eyes. Satisfied the boy wasn't concussed Treville moved to grab a bowl, cloth and water, placing it on his desk. He dipped the cloth in the water and then handed it to the boy. "Clean your face." Aramis did as he was told, wincing as he rubbed over his jaw. Treville looked over, but did not comment. There was nothing he could do for the injury. The Captain, in the meantime, emptied out the contents of the winning purse onto his desk. "Gambling is a sin, is it not?" Aramis looked down at that. "I should confiscate this in punishment for starting a fight against your own side."_

" _No!" Aramis said desperately._

" _No?" Treville replied, crossing his arms at the statement; he was unused to anyone talking back at him._

" _I mean…the money is not for me."_

" _Enlighten me," Treville said, intrigued at the turn of events. The Captain did not miss how the boy's right hand drifted to his chest, grasping the cross necklace around his neck._

" _There is an orphanage two miles east of the camp Sir," Aramis said, staring at the ground. Treville stayed quiet a moment, seeing the sincerity in the young man's face; despite the shame that was also there. The cracks in the boy's arrogant mask were already being revealed._

" _Your name?"_

" _Aramis Sir," the boy replied._

" _It is not sensible taking such a sum into battle Aramis; given your intention for it."_

" _I was going to take it tonight…the father there prays with me…it settles me before…well…" Aramis said quietly, voice trailing off as he recalled the bloodshed he had seen over the last few weeks. Treville saw the pain in the young man's eyes. He remembered when he had first witnessed war and shivered. Making up his mind Treville walked over to the desk and pulled out his purse, pouring Aramis' small winnings into the bag. The boy watched in sadness, but then confusion as Treville placed the large purse into his hand. "Sir…?"_

" _Go to the orphanage and prepare. Tomorrow will not be easy," Treville said as he helped Aramis stand, squeezing the young man's shoulder before he pushed him towards the tent flap._

" _You would trust me with such a sum?" Aramis asked, shocked, from the opening._

" _Why should I not?" Treville replied._

 _Aramis was dumbstruck. The man he had heard nothing but legends about was standing before him; trusting him with such a sum, believing in him for no sensible reason. Captain Treville of the Kings-guard and special representative of the King in this battle had faith in the poor orphan boy with nothing but pain in his past. Captain Treville trusted him…Captain Treville was bleeding._

 _Pain filled the man's expression as a hole appeared in his tunic, a red stain running down his chest. He dropped to his knees, Aramis following him as the wind seemed to blow the tent away leaving nothing in its wake but a blizzard amongst the trees. Aramis could only watch as Treville cried out in pain and died before him, lying in the snow as his body froze._

" _No! Noooo!" Aramis shouted, begging God to spare Treville's life as he leant over him. "Wake up! Don't do this. No!"_

 _A raven's cry filled the air as the birds came down upon him, attacking the bodies surrounding him. Aramis panicked at the sight, trying to get them away. He covered Treville's body with his own to protect his father-figure with everything he had left. Crying out in pain as the birds attacked his back. Everyone was dead. Everyone he cared for was dead in the snow beside him._

" _Aramis…"_

" _Aramis."_

"Aramis!"

Aramis jerked back, sweat covering his body as he scrambled away from his attacker. Terrified, his back hit the wall to the side of the bed where he stayed, panting and trapped by the figures beside him.

"Aramis, calm down. You're safe," a gentle voice soothed as someone knelt beside the bed. Porthos' friendly face came into focus, a kind smile displayed. "That's it," Porthos continued, grinning. "You're alright now. Nothing to worry about."

"Treville?" Aramis gasped, focusing on Porthos' exaggerated breathing. No doubt the man was trying to get him to copy it.

"He's at the palace," the second figure stated. Aramis immediately recognised him to be Athos. The man approached slowly as if stalking a wounded animal, carrying a canteen in his hand. "Drink," Athos said, holding it out to him. Aramis reached for it, hand shaking in the air before he put it down in shame. Porthos quickly grabbed the canteen from Athos, getting closer to the marksman.

"Here," the giant said gently, sliding a hand behind Aramis' shoulders and helping his sit up a little before letting him drink.

"You should eat," Athos said as he took the canteen back from Porthos when he was finished. By that time, however, Aramis had become calmer and therefore more aware of himself.

"I'm not hungry," the marksman said, voice void of emotion unlike how it had been a few minutes ago.

"You haven't eaten in days," Porthos said desperately, eyes pleading with Aramis and then Athos.

"I will have Serge make some broth," Athos said, appeasing Porthos before he left the room.

"Can't turn that down surely," Porthos said hopefully. Aramis didn't reply. He just fixed his gaze on a rough patch of the wall, unwilling to speak to the man he had tried to befriend before all this had happened. Porthos picked up his bandana from the floor and began rubbing it in nervousness once again. The bags under Aramis' eyes now looked like bruised and Porthos, despite his exhaustion yesterday, had not lied about Aramis being light. He needed to get his strength back or no matter his body's potential, he wouldn't survive.

Athos carried the bowl out of the kitchen, making his way back to the office when he saw Treville ride through the gate.

"Captain," Athos greeted in relief, before he noticed the man's expression.

"Renauld came?" Treville asked, dismounting.

"Yes. Aramis will make a recovery if he builds his strength up," Athos replied. "Though he is refusing to eat," he continued, hinting.

"Very well," Treville said, grabbing his saddlebag before walking towards the mess hall.

"He had asked for you," Athos said, making Treville pause.

"I have the King's business to attend to. Make sure he is comfortable," Treville said, not turning around. Athos had no choice but to enter the office without their Captain and heed Serge's words. Walking over to the bed Athos handed Porthos the bowl.

"Your food is here," Athos said, bracing himself for what he must do. Aramis, as expected did not reply. In one move Athos grabbed Aramis under the shoulders and hoisted him up so he was sat against the backboard, quickly using one hand to hold Porthos back once he was finished. Aramis glared at him in shock, breathing fast as he recovered from the movement and the small amount of pain it had caused. "You are going to eat," Athos ordered directly to Aramis, sitting on the bed.

"Athos?" Porthos growled as he witnessed the stand-off between the two other Musketeers. The two of them seemed to be in a dual of glares. The victor, of course was Athos. Aramis was too fragile in his current state to put up much of a fight. Which, set the course for the rest of their friendship together. Internally smiling, Athos took the bowl off of Porthos and began to spoon-feed the marksman to his shame.

Porthos watched in pity as it happened, Aramis only able to eat half of the broth before his head started to dip in exhaustion. Satisfied, Athos stood and prepared the pain draught. As soon as he could Porthos stepped in and helped Aramis lie down, gripping the man's hand as it clenched at the pain from his head and side.

"Here," Athos whispered to the giant, handing him the liquid. Porthos helped Aramis drink it before tucking him in as the marksman instantly fell asleep.

"You wanna tell me what the hell you're thinking!?" Porthos shouted in a hushed tone.

"Forgive me. I had my orders and I followed them."

"Treville?" Porthos guessed.

"Serge," Athos corrected. "The Captain has returned but…his manner was unexpected."

…

Treville placed his saddlebag in the mess hall before he took off down the corridors of the Garrison, finding the room he wanted. Sitting on the bed Treville stared at the cross on the wall opposite before his grief became too much. Breaking down into sobs the Captain of the Musketeers wept for the men he had lost. Yet, what hurt him most was the pain he had seen in Aramis' eyes when they had found him. Aramis would live the rest of his life in agony at the horror he had witnessed and it was all Treville's fault. He couldn't bear to see him. For the first time in his life Treville allowed fear to consume him and keep him away from where the embodiment of his grief resided. Aramis would be a constant reminder of his failings. A constant reminder of how he had allowed his own men to die.

 **Longer chapter than usual. Hope you guys like. Trying to show how Aramis became dependent on Athos' guidance in things as shown in S01E04. Please review! Love hearing from you guys! Let me know if you have something you want me to include!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing below ;)**

Treville jerked awake, disorientated. Blinking his eyes into focus, he realised he was still in Aramis' room where he had sought refuge last night; the cross on the wall giving it away. He was not a Godly man and the few prayers he had whispered before sleep had not alleviated his guilt; weakening his already minimal sense of faith. There would be no place to hide from the pain he felt.

He emitted a groan as he stood. The position he had fallen asleep in had not been thought out. Indeed, he had not planned to fall asleep there at all, but exhaustion had set in.

Leaving the room, Treville walked through the corridor and out into the yard, breathing in the fresh cold air to wake him up. It was dawn and the Garrison was frightfully quiet; though, Treville realised, it would be quiet all day due to their fall in numbers. Having been caught unaware, lost in his thoughts, Treville flinched as he noticed Athos approaching him from the gate.

"Captain," Athos greeted calmly, coming to a halt before the man.

"Athos," Treville replied, noticing the dark circles under Athos' eyes. "Where have you been? The tavern?" Athos' gaze hardened in what Treville originally believed to be shame.

"I took the night-shift on guard duty Sir," Athos said, voice level despite the hurt he felt by the accusation. Treville sighed, rubbing a hand down his face in self-anger before he stepped forward and placed a hand on Athos' shoulder.

"Forgive me...I let my frustration out on you and it is undeserving. You have been nothing but supportive these past couple of weeks."

"There is nothing to forgive," Athos replied, face guarded with a lack of emotion. Treville squeezed his shoulder to let the man know he meant what he said, before he let him go.

"You should get some sleep."

"I must check on Aramis," Athos countered, making Treville bristle; something he was sure Athos noticed.

"Is Porthos with him?" Treville asked weakly.

"Serge," Athos replied. "Porthos slept through the night so that he was well rested when I finished my guard shift and retired myself; Serge offered to cover the gap. He claims he doesn't need the sleep."

"It is the truth. He always catches me when I am out at night," Treville said, his tone lighter than it had been for days as he spoke with fondness about their resident cook.

"Perhaps you should spare him the search. Indeed, I am sure Aramis would like to see you," Athos said carefully, knowing his words could deter the Captain.

"I have matters to attend to," Treville replied, the lightness gone. "I must visit the regiments of Paris in search of new recruits. The King has asked me to refill our ranks. The local Captains love to recommend men so that they become more popular to aspiring Musketeers."

"Is it not too early?" Athos said.

"I shall start with the furthest away," Treville dodged, making it clear he would not be visiting the marksman.

"Captain," Athos said in farewell as he nodded his head and let Treville past. The man had started to shift his feet the moment his excuse not to see Aramis began and thus Athos knew he intended to leave immediately.

Athos' lip turned down slightly in his version of a frown as he made his way up the Garrison steps and into Treville's office; not bothering to knock for fear of waking those within. Athos, however, entered to find both men awake; though conversation only flowed in one direction.

"…aye, she's an old musket I'll grant you, but you shouldn't listen to the Captain about her being useless. Got me out of plenty of scrapes she has," Serge said, not pausing when Athos entered the room. The old cook's eyes lingered on the silent ghost in the corner, hoping for a reply, before he shifted his sad gaze to Athos. "You should be in bed lad after being up all night."

"As soon as Porthos wakes," Athos replied.

"Well, I best be making the breakfast then. You know how he'll whine about not being fed," Serge said, getting up. Athos in fact did not know, having only really known Porthos under the unusual circumstances of the last couple of weeks where Porthos had not complained about lack of food at all. With one last glance at the marksman Serge hobbled out of the room.

"Have your wounds made you deaf as well as weak," Athos said, deliberately harsh. Aramis' eyes instantly shot towards him from their previous place on the wall. Athos had to put extra effort into controlling his features when he saw the bloodshot gaze within dark circles. Aramis was pale white and limp against the pillows behind his back. He looked like he would not have the strength to lift his arm from its place by his side. "Apparently not," Athos continued.

"Your point?" Aramis rasped angrily. Athos reached for the water-skin and walked over to the bed, gently pouring a small amount into Aramis' mouth as the marksman continued to glare at him; only accepting the water as he truly was thirsty.

"I believe Serge likes his conversations two-ways."

"Unlike you," Aramis replied. Athos huffed at that, his upper lip turned up in a smile. Under different circumstances Athos would believe Aramis had attempted humour.

"Yes, unlike me. However, you seem to be punishing both of us."

"Perhaps I just want you to leave," Aramis stated.

"Well it won't be too long until Porthos arrives and I will."

"You know that's not what I meant," the marksman replied, before he started coughing, wincing in pain as it irritated not only his throat but his side.

"Has Serge given you any pain draught?" Athos asked, looking at the bottle on the desk.

"I don't want it," Aramis replied.

"It will let you sleep."

"No," Aramis said, a little desperate.

"I could insist," Athos said, a warning in his tone as he grabbed the bottle and uncorked it. Athos regretted it the moment he looked back at Aramis to see fear in his eyes alike to a frightened child.

"I…I…don't want to sleep…please…," Aramis practically begged, too scared to worry about his pride. Athos instantly corked the bottle and placed it back on the desk, before coming to sit beside Aramis again as the man turned away.

"Nightmares?" Athos guessed. Aramis gave the smallest of nods. Athos sighed, running a hand down his face. "I would like to say drinking helps…but that is something I just tell myself." Aramis slowly turned his head to look at Athos upon the unique admission by the swordsman.

"Why?" Aramis said weakly, needing something to distract him.

"There was a woman…she died," Athos replied, before clearing his throat to emphasise the fact he would say no more about it.

"I'm sorry," Aramis stated, softer. "I know what it's like to lose one you love."

"The Kings Musketeers…what a damaged flock we are," Athos concluded, eliciting a small hum and smile from Aramis, which sadly turned into a cough once again. Athos frowned, ignoring the door opening behind him, as he helped Aramis sit up more, checking his temperature.

"Everything alright?" Porthos' deep voice said in concern at the scene.

"No fever, but that cough is getting worse," Athos said, eyes locked on the marksman as he recovered from the fit, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Slowly he opened them once again and gave a small nod, letting Athos release his grip on his arms and thus allow Aramis to sit back into the pillows again. "I've given him his pain draught," Athos lied. "Don't give him more today unless he asks for it," Athos continued, instructing Porthos. Aramis gave him a look of thanks and relief for the fib as Athos walked out of the room, patting the giant on the arm before he left.

"He seems overly friendly today," Porthos grunted to Aramis, taking a seat by his side.

"No…He's just human," Aramis replied knowingly, before turning his head away and returning to his silent state to Porthos' dismay. There was something behind the hard shell of Athos which he had glimpsed before Savoy. The man cared. If only Aramis had the strength to care back. Unfortunately, he felt his two companions' efforts would be for naught. He was no longer the man he used to be.

* * *

Captain Treville knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed to tell the others the lie. He had to tell them that it was a Spanish raiding party that had killed most of the regiment. This decision weighed more on him than anything else ever had. He had betrayed his men through his political stupidity and now he had to lie about it to keep the royal secret, but Treville was a soldier to the core, and soldier's followed orders. The Captain, however, would never be so duped again. He would actively learn more about the politician's games rather than turn his back to it. He had thought he could protect the King without being involved in the ambitious moves of others; he was wrong.

Treville walked back to the gate, seeing Hugo on guard.

"Where is Lucas?" he asked.

"Stables Sir," Hugo replied.

"Very well. I will be speaking to you both shortly. Don't leave the garrison."

"Sir," Hugo confirmed as Treville walked through the archway.

"You be wanting lunch Captain?" Serge said, breaking Treville's stride to the steps.

"No, I'm fine Serge," Treville rebuffed, placing one foot on the first step.

"Well I make some up anyway."

"I won't eat it," Treville snapped, before taking a breath. Damn his temper. "Please find Athos and send him to my office," he continued in a softer tone.

"He's already in there Captain. Didn't sleep long at all," Serge replied, before letting the man go. It was best not to push Treville too far when he was in this state. Serge would keep him functioning, that didn't mean the Captain wasn't going to eat and sleep properly mind.

When Treville reached his office he took a breath in preparation before entering the room. He didn't look at the bed, merely stared at the two healthy men on the chairs before it.

"Cap'n," Porthos greeted as both he and Athos stood. Athos looked to Aramis who suddenly seemed to have a renewed sense of energy due to their visitor. The marksman was staring at Treville in what seemed like hope, as he appeared to sit up slightly, rather than solely relying on the pillows for support.

"Sit, please," Treville said, walking over to his desk and opening the cabinet. "I trust you have everything you need?" he asked, as he searched his documents for the Savoy mission.

"Everything Cap'n," Porthos replied, glancing between Athos, Treville and Aramis. Why wasn't Treville addressing Aramis? Athos didn't seem to be shocked by that fact. "Aramis is doing much better. Aint ya?" Porthos said, trying to fix the distance. Aramis, however, didn't reply, he was too focused on staring at the back of Treville's head, wishing for him to turn around and look at him. He wanted him to scold him for being miserable, to tell him it wasn't his fault, to place a hand on his shoulder in support when the nightmares came. Yet, Treville didn't so much as glance his way even as he turned.

"A Spanish raiding party was responsible for the massacre," the Captain said bluntly to no-one in particular. The man didn't even seem capable of meeting Athos or Porthos' gaze, let alone Aramis'.

"But the spy in Savoy?" Athos asked, "the Cardinal's message…"

"An excuse he told the Council. A war with Savoy is a lot less frightening than a war with Spain."

"Then why not tell you then?" Porthos asked.

"There could be no loose ends. The Cardinal warned me about my men as soon as possible, but he could not risk the truth about Spain by messenger."

"I don't understand," Porthos stated. "The Cardinal told you that Savoy had attacked a group of Musketeers, to disguise the fact the Spanish killed them. Why aren't we going after the real murderers!?"

"We are in no position to go to war against Spain," Treville replied, ignoring Porthos' raised tone.

"And Savoy?" Athos inquired, feeling Treville was keeping something from them.

"Trade will decrease as a warning but the council cannot make a move without hard evidence. With it all being a lie; there is none," Treville said. He was about to state he was leaving when a croaked voice sounded from the bed.

"Trade…twenty dead Musketeers and we're weakening trade…," Aramis said coldly, voice tight in anger. "Twenty of my brothers were slaughtered before my eyes and we are not even punishing those who did it," Aramis continued, voice straining as the volume increased and he sat up higher.

"Aramis," Porthos warned as he tried to get the marksman to lie back down, only for his hand to be knocked away. Athos just stared at Treville as he looked towards the door, away from Aramis' fury.

"Look at me!" the man yelled, anger cracking through. Treville took a breath that filled the silence in the room before he turned his head to the marksman, finally meeting his eye. "Don't you care?" Aramis said, voice weak as he saw only coldness in Treville's eyes. A flicker; a moment of pure guilt and sadness overcame the Captain as he stared at the broken man, taking note of everything wrong with him. The darkness around eyes. The shake to his hands. The weakness of his body. The raspy breathing. The scar on his forehead. The fear…

It was fight or flee. The guilt he felt was immense. He was the reason Aramis had suffered so much. He was the reason for all of the young man's pain. The young man who he had protected and trained as a son; not unlike so many of the now dead. And yet, his self-pity was only making things worse for the marksman. Aramis was left to grieve for the men they had lost alone, with no one that understood; all because of Treville's fear of failing him again.

"Leave us," Treville said, deciding that he would fight this. Athos and Porthos didn't waste a second; both walking out the door after only a few moments passed.

Treville slowly walked forwards as Aramis' arms began to tremble from where he struggled to stay upright; his weakness growing. The Captain sat beside him on the side of the bed as he placed a hand on the marksman's arm to steady him.

"I care Aramis…God I wish I didn't," Treville said as Aramis' breath hitched. Before the first sob sounded Treville had the young man resting against his chest, brown locks nestled into his shoulder as Aramis' body gave up and fell against him.

"You…you…weren't here…," Aramis choked out between breathes.

"I'm sorry," Treville replied, gripping him tighter. "That's twice I have failed you." Aramis' hand fisted in Treville's shirt as he shook his head.

"No," Aramis whispered. Treville didn't reply, he wouldn't argue with the marksman, even if he knew he was wrong. "I see them…every-time I close my eyes…they're stood before me…"

"Its not real Aramis…"

"They blame me," Aramis choked.

"No."

"They say I should have died…"

"Aramis," Treville warned sharply, hand knotting into the young man's hair as he held him close, trying to protect him from the lies. "No. Not one of your brothers would trade your life for theirs. All for one Aramis. They did not sacrifice their lives for nothing. Fate let you live; you must honour them or their deaths will have been in vain."

"How?"

"You fight son…and you keep fighting till you've given all you can."

 **Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Final chapter**

A week later, the garrison was once again filled with the sound of clanging swords as men fought in the yard. Treville oversaw it all from his balcony. He had burnt the report for the Savoy mission and vowed to never let history repeat itself. He would not fail his men again, but rebuild and make them stronger. Athos was instructing some of the new recruits in swordsmanship, using his quiet but authority filled tone on them. The man was a natural leader and everyday Treville found he relied on him more and more. The same could also be said for Aramis.

The marksman had shakily walked down to the table that morning with Porthos' assistance. When Treville had suggested the fresh air, he had not missed the way Aramis looked to Athos briefly for guidance. Even when Serge brought breakfast out, the marksman did not touch his food until Athos pushed the bowl towards him in a silent order. Thus, Treville's words had come true. Aramis didn't need him anymore. He now relied on his newfound friends. Porthos, the lovable giant who could console the man when the nightmares woke him from his slumber, and Athos, the man who could make sure he kept going despite the ever-present wish to give up.

"You know I ain't forgotten about you teaching me to shoot," Porthos stated to Aramis as he placed a pistol down on the table in front of the marksman. Aramis quirked an eyebrow from where he lay resting against the post behind him, enjoying the sun on his face.

"I cannot yet hold a pistol," Aramis admitted as his hand tremored slightly before he hid it within the warm cloak he wore.

"I know that, but you soon will. Today you gotta make sure I still know how to clean it properly."

"That I can do," Aramis replied, making Porthos smile at his acceptance. He had just finished cleaning his pistol when he looked up to see Aramis had fallen asleep where he sat. Athos came over, having finished the training session.

"We best move him before his back starts to hurt," Athos said.

"Carry him?"

"No. He can do it," Athos replied, placing a hand on the marksman's shoulder and waking him. Sleepy eyes opened to see Athos before him. "Come, we'll try again tomorrow." Aramis nodded slowly in acceptance, letting Athos wrap an arm around his chest to help him stand. Athos then pulled one of Aramis' arms around his shoulder and slowly walked him back to his room. Aramis had left Treville's room the day before, when he had insisted he stop intruding. Treville hadn't been best pleased, but had accepted it when Athos and Porthos had stated they would move so that their rooms were beside Aramis'. The marksman would never be far from another person. He would never have to suffer his nightmares alone.

A month passed and Aramis was back on light duties beside Athos and Porthos. There were eight Musketeers and twenty recruits ready to resume their duty in protecting the King. Treville always made sure that two experienced men were always placed together, aided by the recruits. It would not be long until they all proved their worth as King's Musketeers.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis rode back into the garrison. They all entered Treville's office together, with Athos stating the report. When it was done Treville asked Athos to stay behind and the other two left. Porthos taking the stairs slowly, knowing his friend was still a little weak.

"Athos, six weeks ago, I was about to have a man promoted to be my Lieutenant. The decision was of course delayed and now I find myself making an entirely new one. You've been here for a short time but you are a natural leader. The men look to you and I know that I can rely on you whenever I need to. Athos I ask that you take the position as my Lieutenant."

"Captain, this would be a mistake," Athos replied immediately.

"Your reasons?" Treville asked, knowing that this would not be easy.

"I am not reliable. I am a drunkard and barely more than a recruit myself. The choice was between Aramis and three others. Aramis is the only one left and the right choice. He has more experience than any of us. He is an excellent soldier, skilled and loyal…"

"Athos," Treville silenced. "Aramis is the most talented marksman I know, and one of my best men. Perhaps, if circumstances had been different I would have chosen him, but things have changed. Savoy has changed him."

"Sir…"

"No Athos. Do not deny what you know to be true. When I first met Aramis he was a lost boy in need of guidance. I offered him a place here and he thrived. Over the years, he became his own man and stopped looking to me for support. Savoy has knocked him back. He looks to you now. It will take time before he is ready to take control again. You must be there for him Athos when I can no longer be. If you care for him, you will do this. The result if you do not would be painful for all. Do you accept?"

"You give me little choice. I am either a fool or heartless."

"You are neither, in time I hope you'll see that."

"Captain," Athos replied, walking out of the room once Treville had dismissed him. Athos looked down from the balcony at Aramis and Porthos sat at the table. Porthos was shuffling cards and practicing his cheating whilst Aramis leant back with his hat over his eyes. Athos allowed himself a small smile at the sight of his companions. It would not be long until they were revered amongst their comrades and known as the Inseperables. Five years from now another would join their friendship and tales of their brotherhood would last for eternity.

 **THE END**


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